Читать книгу The Alvares Bride - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 8

Rio de Ouro, Brazil

Saturday, May 4

RAPHAEL EDUARDO ALVARES shot upright in bed, his heart pounding, his naked body soaked with sweat. He had been dreaming, but of what?

The answer came quickly.

He had been dreaming of the woman again, and the one time he’d been with her.

Rafe threw back the blanket and sat up.

Why? She and the night were nothing but a memory, a memory almost nine months old. Still, the dream had been so real, and not the same as it always was. In this dream, she’d been hurt. In an accident, perhaps. And she was calling out to him…

Not that it mattered. The woman meant nothing to him. Besides, he didn’t believe in dreams. What a man could see and touch, that was what mattered. Dreams were foolishness, and only led to pain.

Rafe rose to his feet, stretched and walked to the window. Dawn was just touching the sky; the endless savannah stretched under its pale pink glow all the way to the low, dark hills in the distance.

It was good he had awakened early. He was flying to Sao Paulo this morning for a business meeting, and then for lunch with Claudia. He’d told his pilot to have the plane ready by eight. Now he’d have a couple of hours to do some work first.

By the time Rafe showered, shaved and dressed, the dream was forgotten. He went downstairs, greeted his housekeeper, took the cup of sweet, black coffee she handed him and went down the hall, to his office.

Twenty minutes later, he shut down his computer and gave up. He couldn’t concentrate. He was thinking about the dream again. And about the woman. Would he never be able to get her out of his head?

Rafe reached for the phone.

Might as well move up his departure…but once he had his pilot on the line, he canceled the flight entirely. After that, he telephoned São Paulo, left messages of regret on the answering machine of the man he’d intended to meet and then on Claudia’s. She never stirred until late morning; he still remembered that. There was no reason to think she’d changed, even in the five years since he’d ended their engagement.

His behavior was out of character, he knew. Not putting aside lunch with Claudia. She’d pout, but it was not a problem. Canceling his meeting—that was different. He had not built his empire of horses, cattle and banks by doing things precipitously, but what was the logic of trying to concentrate on business when his thoughts were not in Brazil but tangled in a dream that made no sense?

Even if Carin were in trouble, he was the last man in the world she would want beside her.

Rafe changed into a black T-shirt, faded jeans and the scuffed riding boots he’d owned since he’d come to Rio de Ouro more than a decade before. Perhaps a long ride would clear his head. Down at the stables, he waved off his men, led his horse from its stall and saddled it. He mounted the stallion and touched its flanks lightly with his heels.

He’d put the Brewster woman out of his thoughts months ago, and with good reason. She’d made it clear that what had happened meant nothing. An hour was all she’d wanted of him…one hour, when he’d stood in for another man.

Not that he’d wanted more of her. He’d only sought her out in the first place because courtesy demanded it. He’d been a guest at a party he’d had no real wish to attend, and one of his hostess’s daughters—the wife of a friend, in fact, the very friend who’d introduced him to Jonas Baron, and to the Baron stables—had said that she hoped he’d meet her sister.

The rest of the Barons had hinted at the same thing.

“Gonna be lots a’ good-lookin’ women at the party,” Jonas had told him, and grinned. “Sounds like a pretty fine weekend to me, Alvares. Spend the day vettin’ that stallion you’re interested in, spend the evenin’ checkin’ out some of Texas’s finest fillies.”

Marta Baron had smiled as Jonas handed her a sherry. “My husband is right, you know. There’ll be some charming young women at the party. I’m sure they’ll all want to meet you.”

“How nice,” Rafe had replied, lying politely. Why did women of a certain age seem to view all unmarried males as a challenge? “But I hadn’t planned on staying for the party—”

“Oh, please do!” Amanda al Rashid took her husband’s arm. “Really, Rafe, it’ll be fun. My sister, Carin, will be flying in from New York. Did I mention that?”

Warning bells rang in Rafe’s head. He knew that smile, knew that all-too-casual tone of voice.

“No,” he’d said, even more politely, “you didn’t.”

“Ah. Well, she is. And I just know you’ll hit it off.”

“I’m sure we will,” Rafe had replied.

That had been lie number two. He had no such expectation but then, he’d been down this road before. Many times, in fact. Mothers, aunts, the wives of his business acquaintances…there were moments he could almost believe that every woman on the planet had a daughter, sister or niece she was certain he’d like.

It went, as the North Americans said, with the territory. He was thirty-four, he was single; he had money and property and, according to the things women said to him in bed, he supposed he had what were known as good looks. The only thing he didn’t have was a wife—but why would he want one?

Still, he hadn’t wished to insult his host, his hostess, his friend and his friend’s wife, all at the same time. So he’d stayed for the party and gone looking for the woman. A polite hello, followed by an equally polite apology for retiring early, had seemed simple enough.

Except, it hadn’t worked out that way.

Rafe reined in the horse and stared blindly into the distance. Instead of finding the woman, he’d found a spitting, hissing, wildcat.

And he’d taken her to bed.

He’d had many women in his life. More than his share, some would say, but never one like her.

The way she had gone into his arms, as if he were the only man she’d ever wanted. The wildness in her kisses. The way her body had hummed with delight under his hands and mouth. Deus, she’d set him on fire. Her climax had made him feel as omnipotent as a god; his, seconds later, had shaken him to the depths of his soul. But when he’d tried to draw her close, she’d pushed free of his embrace, asked him to leave in a way that made it clear he’d served his purposes and was being dismissed.

She had gone into the bathroom. He’d heard the click of the lock and for one insane moment, he’d thought of kicking down the door, carrying her back to bed and showing her that she could not use a man and then discard him as if he were trash…

Rafe’s mouth thinned.

The boy he’d once been might have done such a thing. The man he’d become would not. Instead, he’d dressed in the dark, gone to his room in the silent, sleeping house…

The horse snorted and danced beneath him. Rafe patted the proudly arched neck. Carin Brewster was not simply a distant memory, she was an unpleasant one.

Then, why couldn’t he get her out of his head?

His vision blurred as he remembered that night, how someone had laughed and pointed to Carin, when he’d asked where she was; how he’d stood on the deck of a Texas mansion, watching her make a fool of herself while people smirked, and wondered if he ought to be a gentleman and do something about it or just let the scene play out…

Hell. He wasn’t a gentleman. He never would be.

But Jonas Baron was his host and Nick al Rashid was his friend, which made Nick’s wife his friend, too, and the woman making a fool of herself was Amanda al Rashid’s sister…

Without any more thought than that, Rafe strode towards Carin, scooped her into his arms and carried her down the steps and towards the garden. People saw it happen; they laughed and cheered but nobody tried to stop him—nobody except the wildcat in his arms, who was kicking and cursing and beating at his shoulders with her fists.

That Nick’s wife and her mother would even imagine he’d be interested in the kicking, cursing woman he was carrying deep into the garden, seemed impossible.

Carin Brewster was the very antithesis of the sort of woman he’d someday search out and marry because, yes, he supposed he would marry, eventually. A man needed heirs so that all he’d sweated and struggled to build would not be lost, but the woman he’d choose to be his wife would be compliant and faithful. She would want to devote herself to him and to the children she would bear him.

That was the whole reason for marriage, wasn’t it?

“Are you crazy?” Carin shrieked, as he carried her further from the house. “Put me down!”

No wonder the woman’s family was having such difficulty marrying her off. She was beautiful, yes. She was also sharp-tongued, evil-tempered and self-centered. Rafe could hardly wait to get rid of her.

“You idiot!” She pounded her fists against his chest. “You—you moron! Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Yes,” Rafe said coldly, “I know precisely who you are.”

“You can’t just grab a woman and carry her off like this!”

“Ah,” he said calmly, jerking his head back just in time to avoid a wildly thrown punch, “if only you’d mentioned that sooner, senhora. I wouldn’t have done it.”

“You—you—you…”

She called him a name that implied he was related to the scatological habits of canines. He laughed. That only made her more furious. She flailed out with her fists again; this time, her knuckles dusted his jaw.

Deus.

There was a saying in this country about being careful not to catch a tiger by the tail without having a plan for letting it go.

What was he going to do with Carin Brewster?

“You just wait! Oh, you just wait until I get back to the house. I’ll have you thrown off this property so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

“I am—how do you say? I am shaking in my boots.”

“Quaking. And you’d damn well better be.” Carin pounded his chest again. “For the last time, put me down!”

“If I do, will you go to your room, ask the housekeeper to bring you a pot of black coffee and drink every drop?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you are drunk.”

“I am no such thing.”

“You are drunk,” Rafe said firmly, “and you were making a spectacle of yourself.”

“If you were correct…if you were correct, it would be my business, not yours. You had no right to interfere.”

“I interfered on behalf of your family, and on behalf of the poor young man you were threatening.”

“That’s pathetic. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Actually, I did it for your sister, who thinks a great deal of you.”

“You don’t know a thing about what my sister thinks.”

“On the contrary, senhora. I know that she has false illusions about you, or she would not have assumed I might find you appealing.”

“Yeah, well, she has the same illusions about you, you—you South American Neanderthal. And if you’re really thinking about my family, start concentrating on how they’ll react when I tell them what you did.”

“Nicholas and Jonas would surely agree a gag might be an excellent idea.” Rafe shifted her weight in his arms. She was slender and fine-boned but she wriggled and twisted like a snake. Holding on to her and ducking those flying fists wasn’t easy. He thought of tossing her over his shoulder, thought of all the alcohol he’d seen her consume, and decided against it. “As for your stepbrothers…” He looked down at her, his expression severe. “I have met them. And from what I know of Tyler, Gage, Travis and Slade, they would…”

Rafe came to a halt. There was a clearing just ahead. Teak benches ringed a subtly lighted reflecting pool into which a stone nymph emptied an endless stream of water from a copper ewer.

“They would what?” the warm, sweet-smelling, bad-tempered burden in his arms demanded.

“They would applaud me for what I am about to do.”

With that, he marched up to the pool and dumped her straight into it.

She landed on her bottom, legs splayed, up to her hips in water. Showered and sober, he thought with satisfaction, because the nymph was no longer emptying the ewer into the pool, she was emptying it over Carin Brewster’s head.

A hush fell over everything. Even the cascading water seemed to grow silent. Carin’s mouth opened; her lips formed a stunned, “Oh…”

And then she let out a blood-curdling shriek.

What a pity, to ruin such a lovely dress, Rafe thought dispassionately. What there was of it. Black silk, cut low enough to show the ripe curves of her breasts, high enough to show the long length of her legs. Wet, the silk clung lovingly to her body; he saw her nipples peak from the sudden chill of the water.

Beautiful, indeed, but that was all. She was nothing a man in his right mind would want…

Not for a lifetime, no. But she might prove interesting, for a night.

With heart-stopping swiftness, Rafe felt his body respond. It would be a challenge, getting past that hot temper, searching out ways to turn the fury in those dark eyes to passion. He could do it, though. He could tame her in bed, as he had tamed her here.

He imagined stripping off that black dress and the hint of black lace he could see beneath it, letting those long legs close around him as he cupped that lovely face in his hands and tasted that full, soft-looking mouth…

Deus. Was he crazy? Carin Brewster was beautiful but the Baron mansion was, as Jonas had promised, filled with beautiful women who were sweet-tempered, soft-spoken and sober, though he suspected Carin was sober enough, now. The combination of anger, adrenaline and cold water would have ended her alcoholic haze.

Yes, he thought, as he looked down at her, it had. Her shrieks had turned into moans; she was holding her hands to her temples as she tried to struggle to her feet.

Despite himself, he felt a stab of pity. He hesitated, then moved closer, bent down and held out his hand.

“Here,” he said, “take my hand.”

The woman looked at it as if it were a snake with its fangs bared. He supposed he could hardly blame her.

“Do you hear me, senhora? Take my hand and I’ll help you up.”

“I’d sooner stay here all night.”

“Are you determined to go on behaving like a spoiled brat? Let me help you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of helping myself.”

She tried to prove it by scrambling to her feet but she slipped on the wet marble, made a wild grab at the air, and Rafe ended up with her in his arms again.

“Do not do that,” she said furiously. “Just put me—”

“—down,” he said. “Yes, most assuredly, that is what I intend to do.” He set her on her feet, peeled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She tried to shrug it off but he lifted her hair free of the collar—the water had ruined the curls that had been swept up high on her head. He drew the lapels together and held the jacket closed.

“I don’t need your jacket. I don’t need anything from you.”

“You are cold.”

“I am wet,” Carin snapped, “and if you try very, very hard, you might just be able to figure out the reason.”

“You were drunk.”

“And?”

“And, now you are not.”

“Wonderful. Is that some special Brazilian method used to deal with hangovers? Didn’t you ever hear of black coffee?”

“I suggested coffee, but you declined it.”

“And so you d-d-decided to take th-things into your own hands.”

He frowned. “Your teeth are chattering.”

“So wou-would yours, if s-someone dropped you in a f-fountain.”

“Come.” He reached for her; she drew back.

“I’m n-not going anyplace w-with you.”

She lifted her chin and glared at him. Rafe thought about arguing, thought better of it, sighed and hoisted her into his arms again.

“Hey!” Her voice rose as he started back through the gardens. “Do you have a d-death w-wish? I told you, my family w-will…”

“They will visit you in the hospital,” he said grimly, “if you don’t behave yourself and get out of those wet clothes and into a hot shower.”

“That I’m soaked to the skin isn’t your pr-problem, dammit, it’s your f-fault!”

“You’re also sober, or haven’t you considered that?”

“I can’t be sober. I mean, assuming I were drunk, which I wasn’t, how could I be sober five minutes later?”

“Cold water. There are times, if one is fortunate, it has that effect.”

“How would you know?”

“A man knows these things.” Especially if he’d ever had one drink too many, trying to prove himself in a backwater bar on the Amazon, Rafe thought, and shuddered. “Put your arms around my neck, please, Senhora Brewster.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

Rafe sighed, debated the wisdom of tossing her over his shoulder and, once again, decided against it.

“Is there an entrance to the house that will permit us to avoid the other guests? Unless, of course, you prefer a dramatic entrance. It might be quite effective, considering the exit you made.”

“That’s your story, senhor, but you were the one who made the scene.”

“The bartender might not agree.”

“What bar…” she began to say, and then he heard her catch her breath. He knew it was all coming back to her and that once it had, she would be crushed. “Oh. That bartender.” She cleared her throat. “I—I remember now.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. At least, I remember some of…Tell me the truth. Did I—was I—” She cleared her throat again. “I made an ass of myself, didn’t I?”

Rafe hesitated. She had, but what was the point in telling her that? “You were—how do you say it—you were a bit high-spirited.”

“In other words,” she said in a small voice, “the answer is ‘yes.’”

“People forget,” he said briskly.

“They’re not likely to forget a woman who has to be carried off like a—a bad joke.”

Rafe decided to take pity on her. “What they will remember,” he said, “is that a man was so taken with your beauty that he could not bear sharing you with others.”

“That’s very generous. If I didn’t know the truth, I might almost believe you.”

“It is the story I will tell tomorrow, if I am asked.”

“That’s more than generous, senhor, it’s gallant. And yes, there’s a back door. It’s just past those shrubs.”

The door opened at a touch. It led into an enormous pantry, which was empty.

“You can put me down,” Carin said.

Rafe thought about it. He could. But, he reminded himself, it was his fault she was wet and cold. How could he abandon her now?

“I will see you to your room, senhora. Just tell me where it is.”

She told him, and he made his way quickly to the service stairs and to the second floor.

“That door,” she said, “the one on the left.”

Carin reached out and opened the door; Rafe elbowed it closed behind them. Her bedroom smelled faintly of her perfume.

“You can put me down now.”

He nodded. “Of course,” he replied…but he didn’t. He didn’t. He stood in the darkness, holding her in his arms, wondering how she could smell like jasmine and roses after being dropped in a pool of water and wondering, too, why his arms were tightening around her even as he told himself to put her on her feet.

“Senhor.” She drew a breath, then let it out. It stroked his skin like silk. “I—I think I owe you an apology.”

“I accept.” He smiled. “But only if you call me Rafe.”

Carin laughed. “You were supposed to say that an apology wasn’t necessary.”

“But it is. You called me many names tonight and, truly, I only deserved some of them.”

She laughed again, leaned back in the curve of his arm and looked into his face.

“All right. I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.”

Deus, she was lovely. And charming, now that she was sober. But she needed to undress, and to get warm and dry. He could help her with all of that, he thought, and felt his body quicken again.

Carefully, he set her on her feet. “You must get out of your wet clothing, Carin, and take a hot shower.”

“I know.” She hesitated. “Rafe? I—I wouldn’t want you to think…I mean, really, it was good of you to come to my rescue, but—” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just want you to know that I don’t usually drink like that.”

He nodded. He’d already come to that conclusion. “I am certain that is the case.”

“In fact, I’ve never done anything like it before. It’s just that—that…” She fell silent. She owed this stranger no explanation yet, somehow, she wanted to offer one, but what could she say that wouldn’t make her look even more pathetic? “Never mind.” She smiled, held out her hand. “Thank you for everything.”

He nodded, took her hand in his. She’d been on the verge of telling him what had happened that had made her want to forget. That was, after all, why people drank. To forget. To heal pain and yes, despite her smile, he could see pain in her eyes. Who had hurt her? A man? If that were true, he deserved to be beaten. This woman was too fragile, too beautiful…

Rafe drew away his hand and stepped back.

“I am glad I was there to be of service,” he said politely. “And now, you must get warm. Shall I ask one of the servants to bring you some hot soup?”

“No. No, I’ll be fine.” She slipped his jacket off her shoulders. “Do you want to take your jacket, or shall I wait and have it pressed…”

Her words dwindled to silence. He knew the reason; his gaze had dropped to her breasts and her nipples had beaded instantly, to thrust against the damp silk.

“Carin.” Her eyes met his. There was something else there now, not pain, not despair. Indeed, what he saw made his blood throb. He reached out; she stepped back but he clasped her wrists and stopped her. “Why did you do it?” His tone was rough, almost urgent. “Why did you do that to yourself tonight?”

“This was—it was a difficult weekend for me.” She licked her lips. “That’s really why I came to the party. I wasn’t going to, but my sister thought it would be a good idea. Obviously, she was wrong.”

Rafe smiled. “An interesting woman, your sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“She urged me to meet you. She said you were beautiful, and charming, and that I would find you fascinating.”

Carin blushed. “She didn’t!”

“No.” He grinned. “Not exactly, but she certainly made it clear that she thought you and I would be a good match.”

“Oh, isn’t that awful?” Carin rolled her eyes. “Actually, she talked you up, too. She said you were this incredibly handsome, incredibly charming, incredibly everything man. I just had to meet you, she said, because you were—”

“Incredible,” Rafe said, and they both laughed.

“Uh-huh. And I figured, if Mandy thought you such a paragon—”

“—you wanted no part of me.” He was still holding her wrists. Now, he lifted them and brushed his lips across the backs of her hands. “Nor I, of you. It was, how do you say, too much of a buildup.”

“I’m sure she never mentioned I’d be doing my best to get pie-eyed.”

“Pie…? Ah.” He grinned. “No. No, she did not.” Slowly, his smile faded. “Are you going to tell me what this thing was, that happened to you? That made you want to drink yourself into oblivion tonight?”

He watched the swift play of emotions in her face, knew she was considering a dozen different easy answers, and saw the instant when she decided to tell him the truth.

“A man who once meant something to me is…” She hesitated. “He’s getting married tonight.”

“Ah.” Another strand of dark hair slipped across her cheek. Rafe stroked it away from her face again but this time, he let his hand linger against her skin. She was so soft to the touch. So beautiful. What sort of man would want another woman, when he could have her?

“I am sorry you were hurt, querida.”

“Don’t be. Besides, that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have behaved like a fool.”

His hands cupped her face. He tilted it up to his, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones.

“It is this man you mourn who is the fool, not you.”

“Thank you. It’s kind of you to try and make me feel better, but really—”

“Do you think I would tell you such a thing if I didn’t believe it?” He clasped her shoulders and drew her towards him. “What man would want another woman, if he could have you?”

He bent his head and kissed her, gently at first, the merest brush of his mouth on hers. He told himself he meant this kiss as reassurance but she looked up at him, her lips parted, the pulse pounding, hard, in the hollow of her throat, and he knew he’d been lying to himself.

He’d kissed her because he wanted her taste on his tongue.

“Carin.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, more deliberately, and just when he thought he’d misread what he’d seen in her eyes, she moaned and brought her body against his, opened her mouth and kissed him back.

He could feel his heart thundering. He wanted her, wanted her as he could not recall ever wanting a woman before. Some still-logical part of his brain warned him that wanting her so desperately made no sense, that taking her when she was longing for another man could only be an error, but now she was digging her hands into his hair, bringing his head down to hers, seeking his tongue with her own.

Rafe stopped thinking.

He groaned and gathered her close, ran his hand down her back, lifted her into him, tilting her so that she could feel his hardness straining against her. When she moaned and moved against him, he drew back, even though it took every bit of self-control he possessed.

“Look at me, Carin,” he said roughly. “Look at me, and see that I am not the man who lost you.”

“I know that.” She put her hands flat against his chest. “But you are the man I want.”

Rafe swept her into his arms, carried her to the bed. She was like flame, burning with need. She was silk under his hands, under his mouth…

“Senhor Raphael!”

The cry brought him back to reality. He blinked, tore his thoughts from that night and saw his houseman galloping towards him on the back of a lathered mare. His gut clenched. Joao feared horses; the men teased him mercilessly. He never rode, they said, unless disaster was imminent.

Rafe tugged on the reins, rode to meet him. “What is it?”

“A telephone call, senhor, from a woman who gives her name as Amanda Brewster al Rashid. She says it is urgent, that it concerns her sister…”

“Carin,” Rafe whispered.

He spurred his horse, bent low over the outstretched neck, and raced for the house.